


Ploys and Plausibility

by scythe_lyfe



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Beleriand, Far-fetched excuses to visit your crush, Hithlum, It's for diplomacy, M/M, Pining, Post-Rescue from Thangorodrim, Thingol is a dick, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-26
Updated: 2019-07-26
Packaged: 2020-07-20 04:57:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19986493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scythe_lyfe/pseuds/scythe_lyfe
Summary: Fingon tries to find excuses to visit Maedhros in Himring, but his father isn't keen





	Ploys and Plausibility

**Author's Note:**

> Apparently this is how I deal with my feelings now, more projecting my stupid crush onto poor Finno

Findekáno (and yes, he _was_ still Findekáno when not at court, he didn't see the point in observing Elwë's arrogant proscription after all these centuries when the sanctimonious bastard still refused them the slightest aid) sighed in frustration. 

He had intercepted a dispatch from Himring from the falconmaster, promising to deliver it to his Atar directly but first making a detour to his own rooms to pour over the missive, looking for anything that might help him make the case that _someone simply_ _had_ _to visit his cousin's fortress in person, and, hey, he didn't have anything pressing at the moment, why not send the Crown Prince as a sign of unity and goodwill?_ but alas, the closest thing to an urgent request for aid he could find was a brief mention that some of the mountain goats they had started domesticating had escaped and gotten too far up the mountains to be retrieved.

He had still tried: _you know, Ada, I've always been very good with animals, maybe I could-_ but, predictably, his father had laughed him off, assuming such a foolish request had been a joke. Well, he _had_ seemed to have a touch of bemused pity in his refusal, so perhaps he did have an inkling what Findekáno was really getting at.

Ai! That was the last thing he needed, for his father the King to know about his pathetic infatuation. It wasn't as if Maitimo felt the same. Findekáno had heroically done the impossible and saved his life, and as soon as he was healed enough Maitimo had saddled him with a title he didn't want and ran off to the furthest reaches of their territories. Sure, he had been grateful, affectionate even, their long friendship not forgotten, but clearly he didn't feel the same overwhelming tenderness when he looked on Findekáno's face, didn't lie awake at night thinking of what it might be like to cradle those precious cheeks in his palms, to press kisses to that elegant brow and whisper words of love and devotion into the shell of his ear.

Sometimes he was glad of the distance, certain that proximity would break his resolve and he would be found out, but mostly he longed, as he always had, to bask in Maitimo's presence. He was no longer the poised and cheerful Prince Nelyafinwë, but that had never been who Findekáno had loved anyway. Maitimo had changed irrevocably, but then they all had, and under the hard edged defiance and icy, brutal pragmatism he was still quick witted and generous and so damned _selfless_ he would set himself on fire to keep their people warm.

Findekáno wished he could be there to remind him to take care of himself, too, to make sure he ate and slept and didn't blame himself for things that weren't his fault. _And to keep him warm in the depths of the Northern nights,_ his subconscious added snidely. Well, it _was_ called Himring the Ever-Cold. Maybe he couldn't justify a visit, but he could send him a fine blanket, embroidered with the gold thread he so favored and stuffed with softest eiderdown from the geese at Lake Mithrim. For diplomacy, of course.

**Author's Note:**

> Findekáno braids his hair with gold, scares off a dragon, and casually gives away a magical helmet that would keep him safe in the middle of a war. He does not give a single fuck what some Elf hiding away in Doriath thinks of his name and language. Also I prefer the Quenya, so there


End file.
